


Bombay Interlude

by polstar2505



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polstar2505/pseuds/polstar2505
Summary: On her way back from London, Phryne meets Jack in Bombay.





	Bombay Interlude

Bombay was hot, humid, and very, very loud. Walking down the gangway of the SS Strathnaver, Jack already missed the breeze that had whipped through his linen suit as the ship steamed into port. But that was all he missed: three weeks at sea meant three weeks of anticipation and anxiety. Now, the time for anxiety was past – or, at least, that was what he told himself. He’d know as soon as he looked into her eyes whether he’d made a mistake coming after her, whether or not her eye had been caught in London by some cravat-wearing tango-playing adventurer. That would be heartbreak, terrible, awful heartbreak, but at least he’d know where he stood, even if it was a 10,000 mile trip to heartbreak. But maybe, just maybe – his thoughts flicked back to that kiss on the airfield, the way she had looked at him, the way she had turned around twice when running back to the plane – maybe she would give him that soft-eyed look she wore sometimes, and he would know she had missed him as badly as he had missed her.

She’d managed to get as close to the ship as possible, the bottom of the gangplank. All around her, people mingled, shoving, shouting, organising luggage, touting for business taking the passengers to the station or their hotels. And there she stood, sleek black bob, cream and coral dress, an island unto herself, two men in hotel livery keeping the hustle and bustle from reaching her. He could tell the moment she spotted him: she started to bounce slightly up and down on her heels, and her face suffused with delight.  
He finally made it to her. She had stopped bouncing and seemed suddenly interested in anything other than eye contact.

‘Hello, Miss Fisher.’ 

‘Inspector’. She reached out and smoothed the lapel of his jacket before finally looking up at him. Up close, he could see her eyes were shimmering slightly. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Jack’. Her voice was soft and cracked slightly and he noticed she was twisting the parasol handle distractedly. Nerves, then, not displeasure at seeing him. Unless she was upset about what his reaction would be if she told him she’d met someone else. Stop it, he scolded himself. They’ve been a long time getting to this point, and she is surely finally ready.

‘You asked me to come. And there’s no place I would rather be than where you are’.

Her gloved hand found his elbow and squeezed.

\-----

She’d secured neighbouring suites at the Taj Palace Hotel. He wouldn’t have put it past her to dare the hotel to object to them being in the same suite, but it seemed she’d gone for respectability. That is, until he saw the connecting door. 

They’d agreed to meet in her suite for a light supper once Jack had bathed and settled in. But when he emerged from the bathroom here she was, lounging on his bed, and him covered only in a towel wrapped around his hips. She looked up, and he saw her eyes rake down his body. Her legs shifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of thigh. She saw him look and pulled her dress up slightly further. She smirked.

It appeared that nervous Phryne was gone. 

‘You didn’t have to bolt the connecting door, Jack. All it did was force me to stand in the corridor and pick the frankly inadequate lock on your suite door.’ 

‘I apologise, Miss Fisher’.

‘So you should. I got a most impertinent look from Lord Osborne’s valet. I can only assume that Lady Osborne is not the lock-picking type.’

She reached over to his bedside table and waved his book at him. She’d been nosing around as usual then. 

‘I must say, though, Jack, that this Zane Grey novel is not what I expected. Are you aware that someone has hidden a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover inside Forlorn River?’  
He closed his eyes and willed his face not to burn with the fire of a thousand chilies. The Taj may have air conditioning, but Miss Fisher was quite capable of causing an ignition. So much for discreetly finding out what the modern woman desired. He’d meant to dispose of the damned book over the ship’s side once he had read it.

He schooled his face into something approaching disapproving police officer. ‘Perhaps you could vacate my suite so I can get dressed?’

She took pity on him, slid off the bed and sashayed through the connecting door. Jack let himself breathe and pulled the towel from his hips. Too soon. The door reopened suddenly and Jack grabbed the towel to try to cover himself. Miss Fisher’s poked her head around the door frame. ‘Of course, Jack, if you want to have me against a tree à la Lady Chatterley, I am quite prepared to do so. Just give me prior warning so I can wear something suitable. Bark is liable to tear silk.’ She disappeared. Jack’s knees buckled slightly, although from desire or panic he couldn’t tell. 

He dressed clumsily, and knocked on the connecting door. She stood in the centre of her sitting room, cognac in hand. The moonlight slid across the room. Her face was half in shadow. He crossed and stood before her. There were no nerves, now, no teasing, only seriousness. He tilted her face up. And there it was: the softness in her eyes that he had seen so rarely, when giving her the swallow brooch or his Buffalo Bill sheriff’s badge. 

‘You came after me,’ she said. There was wonder in her voice.

‘You saved me,’ he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first ever fic. I did write it in two hours but took longer to format and upload because I've never done it before. The prompts were capsicum (I cheated slightly and used 'chilies, but they're from the same genus, as Jack would know), moonlight, and impertinent. Thanks to the flashfic hosts. This may be purple prosey (I'm not sure), but at least something has moved from my imagination onto the screen. Spellings are British.


End file.
